


dream of the sleeping rose

by teaDragon



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Quest of Erebor, Visions, seer!Bilbo, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-09-28 06:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10075832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaDragon/pseuds/teaDragon
Summary: When the Fell Winter devastated the Shire, King Thorin of the Blue Mountains came to the aid of the hobbits. Years later when Thorin is to set off on his Quest, this kindness is repaid in the most unexpected of ways.In which the Fell Winter has left Bilbo with more than just scars, and Thorin finds himself with a fiercely loyal companion.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are so many other things I should be writing right now, but his is breaking my writers block, so here it is!
> 
> Warnings: child death within the first half of the chapter.

The Fell Winter, as it was called in later years, was one of the harshest, cruelest winters ever inflicted upon Middle Earth. 

Cities of men closed their gates, carefully rationing their stores and sending what hunting parties they could out into the white world beyond in a desperate search for game. The Dwarves retreated deep into their mountains, their mighty forges keeping them warm long into the season, paying no mind to the outside world until the frost had begun to retreat. The elves had no true fear of the winter’s onslaught, yet even their fair halls were quiet and somber as the snow raged outside. 

It was the hobbits of the Shire that felt the bite of winter the hardest. A soft gentle folk, they had never before encountered such harsh temperatures, not even in their wandering days of old. When the ice and cold gripped their land they holed themselves away in their hills, hoping to last out the bitter frost in the safety of their homes. But the winter brought not only snow but wolves, driven from the towns of men and crossing the frozen river into the Shire for easier sweeter meat.

With the wolves came sickness. And after them came wargs and orcs. The bitter cold and lack of game brought gnawing hunger. Greedy eyes turned to the Shire, well known as a land of bountiful harvests and plenty. Once the fierce Brandywine River had frozen solid, there was nothing to stop the vile creatures from crossing the ice and spilling into the peaceful Shire.

Fearing for their lives, the hobbits sent out calls for aid to their neighbours and allies. But no help came from the men that winter, occupied as they were with their own troubles in their own towns. No help came from the elves, too far to be reached in time and too out of touch with lands beyond their own to have a mind for the perils of mortals.

It was in this desperate hour that the dwarf King Thorin Oakenshield answered their call and came to the aid of the Shire. 

The Blue Mountains had not closed off the outside world entirely. Hearing the hobbit's plight he took any willing warriors and rode through the blistering storm to their aid.

For who would know better than a dwarf what it was to be overlooked and undervalued by bigger folk?

King Thorin had not forgotten the elves that turned their backs in Erebor’s hour of need. Nor how the men had sneered at his people when they were forced to barter their heirlooms for simple food and cloth. 

For all that Thorin had only lived in Blue Mountains a few short decades he had come to know hobbits to be fair and honest folk, an insular people concerned with their own simple lives, rarely moved to great feats of cruelty or greed, content with simple comforts and plenty of it. He felt pity and anger in his heart that such gentle creatures should be so hunted and struck down, none of their more powerful allies coming to their aid. 

So he had taken a small army and rode into the Shire, unknowingly saving them from what was certain death. 

 

Xxx

 

Thorin swung his sword, catching an orc across the chest and sending it crashing to the ground. He steered his pony with his legs, rounding on the remaining orcs. He had been traveling with Dwalin and a few others to the Great Smials when they had come across a small group of hobbits doing their best to fend off a pack of orcs. The hobbits must have been making a run for the Smials as well, driven from their homes by starvation and sickness. 

These were no warriors. Ragged and small, their only weapons were kitchen knives and gardening tools. For all that, they were fierce indeed, desperation giving strength to weakened limbs as they fought for their lives. 

They were easy pickings, regardless.

Snarling in his throat, Thorin cut down an orc making to escape, taking satisfaction that at least these orcs would never harm another soul again. Casting a look around he dismounted, their quarry dead and only the hobbits remaining. Those that had survived. 

It was with despair that he saw the many bodies in the blood-reddened snow, only five hobbits remaining upright. He silently cursed that they had no healer with them. They would give what aid they could. And help them bring their dead home.

He joined Dwalin in the grim task of checking the fallen for signs of life. Surely they had saved more than just five. He knelt down by the still body of a hobbit woman with thick dark curls. Blood stained her coat. A large kitchen knife lay a few paces from her outstretched hand, wet with black orc blood. He recalled seeing her fight fiercely, taking down an orc before being set upon by another from behind. Gently he placed a hand on her throat, shutting his eyes with a quiet sigh when he could find no pulse. 

Another body he checked, this one older, greyer, also dead. The next was alive to his great relief, though greatly injured. He called out for help, standing as two of his dwarves came to help the injured hobbit. 

Looking up his breath caught in his throat.

Laying next to a tree, partially covered in snow was the body of a hobbit. A far, far too small body. A child. 

He rushed over, dropping to the snow without a care for his knees and placed a careful hand on the small back. Gently he turned the child over, heart sinking at what he saw. The small face was pinched with cold and pain, a bright red flush over his cheeks and ears speaking of fever. A small haze of white ghosted from the hobbit’s mouth. 

He was still alive. 

But not for much longer. 

His heart clenched in his chest as he saw the bloody wound in the child’s side, the pulse he could feel on the child’s neck faint and slow. Too much blood had already been lost. The most he could do now was comfort the little one as he passed. 

A helpless rage burned in his heart, though his hands were gentle as he brushed golden curls from the small forehead. He cradled the child close to his chest, offering what warmth he could. There was a soft sound. Two large hazel eyes fluttered open, peering up at him blearily.

“Shhh… It’s alright little one. I have you.”

The hobbit’s eyes stared into his own, the small mouth opening as if to say something. All that came out was a soft whine. Even that was too much for the poor child, and his eyes fluttered shut again. He was slipping away. Thorin tucked the hobbit closer, rocking the child gently until the pulse under his fingers slowed and stopped, the little life in his arms going out. 

Footsteps crunching through the snow brought him back to himself. Dwalin knelt beside him, face grim and hard as he took in the small body in his arms. The guard murmured a quiet prayer, head bowed in respect. No matter how many times he had seen a child pass, it never became easier to bare. With small nephews of his own it hit him harder than ever.

“Come on,” said Dwalin quietly, clasping his shoulder. “Best get them home.” Thorin rose to his feet, carefully carrying the body in his arms over to the wagon with the other hobbits. He placed the child down, a small limp bundle next to his larger kin. His throat tightened painfully. He turned away, the sight staying with him long after.

Mounting his pony, the King rode ahead to the Great Smials, the phantom weight of the hobbit child lingering in his arms.

 

Minutes later the child’s body jolted, startling the others on the wagon. His eyes snapped open, staring wide and unseeing, skin deathly pale, chest heaving as he gasped for air.

 

Xxx

 

Perhaps the only good thing to come of the Fell Winter was the strengthened bond between the hobbits of the Shire and the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains. Trade flowed easily between the two settlements. Many a dwarven blacksmith settled happily in the Shire, and the hobbits gladly welcomed the skilled craftsmen that came to their markets.

At first, hobbits traveled to the mountains after hearing some of the troubles the dwarves were having with farming. Some found themselves settling in the mountains, working the earth and advising how best to tend the rocky land to keep the soil rich and fertile. Eventually more adventurous hobbits came as well, offering their services as cooks and bakers and gardeners, making the mountain their home. 

The Blue Mountains prospered as they never had before with such a steadfast ally. Many called King Thorin’s reign a blessed one.

Yet Erebor was never far from the King’s mind, the dragon laying heavy on his heart. The Halls of his lost home haunted his dreams, and he grew restless with the knowledge of the history and memory of his people forever lost to the hateful worm.

So it was that many decades later at the urging of a wizard, King Thorin declared his intent to take back Erebor and defeat the dragon Smaug. 

For all that his people revered their King, few saw sense or reason in such a quest. Why should they face such grave danger when they were comfortable in their homes now? Many called it madness and shook their heads that their King would indulge in such folly. Some offered their support in supplies and gold but would not go themselves, wishing their King the best but unwilling to march to what could only be certain death.

Of the other dwarf clans, their support was even less. 

The Arkenstone, they cried, the Arkenstone! If Thorin could retrieve the Arkenstone then they would send all the dwarven armies in the west to march against the dragon. Of course, to retrieve the King’s jewel Thorin would first have to face Smaug alone. Provided the worm was still alive. If he was dead it would be no trouble at all to collect the stone, and the dwarves would gladly come to the reclaimed Mountain to offer their aid in rebuilding it. But otherwise Thorin would have to go himself, without the support of the other clans or his own army.

For Thorin had not ordered his people to march upon the mountain. He had spoken his intent and asked that any who wished to join such an endeavor should come forward. He knew better than most what waited within Erebor's halls and would not fault those that did not wish to face such horror. 

Yet he could not keep the sting of betrayal from his heart when out of the whole mountain only twelve came forward.

Of this company were his family, Balin and Dwalin, Oin and Gloin direct cousins of his and close friends as well. Dori, Nori and Ori had joined, cousins through blood but by no official means. His two nephews Fili and Kili could not be stopped from going, experienced enough to make the journey and bursting with curiosity to see more of the world and of Erebor, their rightful home. 

Thus far it had been family, those of the Line of Durin who had ties to Erebor and its King of old who had agreed to follow him. The three dwarves of Broadbeam descent were a surprise, but a welcome one all the same. Bifur, Bofur and Bombur were gladly received and offered a home in Erebor should the quest go well.

Thirteen dwarves to reclaim Erebor from a dragon. An ill omen many called it, shaking their heads. If only the King would see reason and call it off! But Thorin would not be moved. Such an unlucky number could only lead to tragedy. Yet no more would come forward and the day that they were to leave drew nearer and nearer. 

 

Xxx

 

A week before the Company was due to depart, Thorin sat in his hall holding court. He would try to settle the mountain as much as he could before his departure, knowing there was every chance he would not return. It seemed on this day many who came before him did not wish for help in settling their own matters but in trying to convince him to abandon his quest. His court was unsettled, undivided in their support of the King’s quest and bewildered that such a thing should come to pass. 

He suppressed a sigh as the noble who had been trying to dissuade his quest passionately for the past quarter-hour finally left the hall. It had been Thorin’s suggestion that he too could join the company if he were so concerned about its success that had finally caused the noble to retreat. 

A headache had been building in his temple for the past hour and he rubbed at his eyes, itching to cast off his crown and go back to the quiet of his chambers. It was not to be. There were two hours of court and a meeting still between himself and what freedom he was allowed.

“Want me to call off the rest?” asked Dwalin lowly, standing at his side.

“No,” sighed Thorin, eyes still shut. “Send the next one in.”

Murmurs and whispers filled the room as the next petitioner approached. His eyes opened and he looked up. 

A small figure was standing before him, made up of soft golden curls and a slight rounded frame. Bright hazel eyes bravely met his own.

It was a hobbit. 

Bewildered, Thorin sat to attention.

“Y-your majesty.” The hobbit bowed low, a hand pressed to his heart. The soft lilt of his voice filled the hall, faltering for a moment before strengthening. “I offer you my services. Such as they are. I would gladly follow you to Erebor, and help you take back your home, if I can.”

Courtiers murmured to each other, confusion thick in the air. Why should a hobbit pledge himself to a dwarf King? To what was surely a doomed quest? What could he possibly hope to gain?

Thorin could not look away from the figure before him. The hobbit was slightly hunched inward, painfully small in the grandness of the hall, surrounded by dwarves all larger than him by at least a head in height and more than twice his bulk in weight. Nerves clearly gripped his frame. Yet he was not cowed. Hazel eyes met his own, calm and steady with resolve.

Something tugged deep in his chest at the sight. That of his own people only twelve had answered--and yet this hobbit had come forward, unprovoked, under no obligation, offering up his own life for the dangers of the wild. Following a King that was not his own for a home he had no ties to. His hands tightened on the arms of his throne.

Thorin was moved beyond words. 

“What is your name, Master Hobbit?”

The hobbit startled and dipped his head in a nervous bow. “Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins, your majesty.”

_Bilbo_

“You do me great honour, Bilbo Baggins.” Thorin’s voice was clear and strong as it rang through his Hall. All the better for them to hear. “I am proud to welcome you to my company.”

The hobbit blinked, shocked. As if he’d been expecting to be turned away. A smile broke across his face like the sun, the sight surprisingly pleasant to behold. He bowed low, his curls tumbling over his eyes.

“Thank you O King! It is an honour to serve you.”

His court was getting louder, the crowd breaking out into objections and exclamations. It seemed that the bravery of a lone hobbit had shamed those who would not go themselves. _Good_ , he thought a touch bitterly, his eyes lingering warmly on the hobbit before him. _Let them see true courage._

“Balin, see that Master Baggins is shown a contract and given anything he should need." He held the hobbit's gaze and softened his voice. “I won’t have any of my company unfitted for the wilds.”

“Thank you,” said Bilbo breathlessly, eyes bright. He ducked his head in a quick bow and hurried off to the side where Balin was already approaching him. Thorin watched as the elder dwarf beamed, putting a kindly arm around the hobbit’s shoulders and leading him out of the court. 

A hobbit. His lucky fourteenth. 

Thorin rose to his feet, something like hope lifting in his heart.

“That will be all for today. Court is closed until tomorrow.”

And with that he turned and left the court to argue and bicker behind him. He realized he was smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, I am completely blown away at all the lovely comments and kudos this fic has already!! Thank you all so much!

The grounds of the training yard were painted a dusty orange with the lengthening of the day, shadows spreading purple and long across the flattened earth. Only a single pair occupied the training space today. Thorin observed them keenly from an alcove cut out of the mountain face overlooking the terraced yard.

A soft clang rang out from below, the smaller of the two figures fumbling with his short sword in a clumsy block.

It was good of Balin to bring the hobbit to this training ground. For all that they built their homes in the earth, hobbits were loath to live for long without the sun and open sky. Almost like the growing plants they cultivated, they would begin to wither and grey if hidden away from the sun for long.

“Interesting one you’ve got there.”

Thorin slid his gaze from the hobbit to find Nori standing by his side. The King waited a moment for his spymaster to say whatever it was he clearly had a mind to say, eyebrow cocked expectantly. The dwarf merely hummed, ignoring Thorin in favour of watching the pair. Balin’s voice could just be made out, patient and gentle as he guided the hobbit through another block. This one was just barely less clumsy than the last.

“If you have something to say about Master Baggins, I suggest you say it and cease your lurking.”

Nori _tsked_. “Lurking is my job. And you’ve no ground to stand on seeing how long you’ve been up here yourself.”

Thorin chose to let the comment go, not rising to it. He would admit to a certain…pull he felt towards his fourteenth. Perhaps it was simply how different Master Baggins looked. Of course he had somewhat regular contact with hobbits, nearly fifty or so residing in the Blue Mountains. However he rarely had direct dealings with them, and as most took to the farms and gardens he rarely came across one. Even then, one had never caught his gaze so completely like Master Baggins had.

“There’ve been rumors, you know,” started Nori casually, drumming his fingers on the railing, “about Baggins. Strange things they say. Apparently he’s got a knack for predictions. A sense for things, so to speak.”

“What kind of sense?”

“You know that cave in a few months back?”

“Aye.”

“Apparently he called it.” Nori gave a lazy flex of his knuckles. “Not many listened mind you, but some did. And that’s a strange thing when a dwarf would listen to a hobbit going on about danger in a mine.”

Down below them Bilbo stumbled and lost his footing, falling ungracefully. He shook himself, his curls flashing a copper gold in the light. Balin called something and started towards him but the hobbit held up a hand, flapping it at the dwarf. Bilbo picked himself up, the lilt of his voice rueful as he said something in reply. He rubbed at his back, wincing even as he got back into position.

“What do you think of these rumors?” asked Thorin, not taking his eyes off the figure below.

“I think they’re interesting. Then there’s the other rumors. Some would suggest our fourteenth is a spy or an assassin employed by one of your enemies.”

Thorin could not help but scoff, finally meeting Nori’s gaze. “Hobbits have little care for our politics. Or our gold.”

“Could be blackmail,” offered Nori in a sing-song voice. “Or perhaps he was threatened into it? Personal vendetta?”

“Unlikely. He would need to be skilled indeed to take down a fully trained dwarf. Let alone thirteen in the wild. The hobbits could only seek to loose in the event of my death. Who is to say any usurper that took my place would be as willing an ally to them?”

“Yes, well, I never said the rumors had any merit to them, but now you know what they’re saying.” The thief smirked. “Though I must say I’m enamored with the idea. A hobbit assassin! No one would suspect a thing.”

“Nori.” Thorin leveled the dwarf a stern glare. “You are not to pressure Master Baggins into any of your dirty work.”

The thief held up his hands defensively, grinning. “Never said I would, don’t take things so personally Thorin!” His grin turned into a smirk, eyes glinting slyly under his impressive eyebrows. “Someone might think you were getting defensive of our hobbit.”

Thorin turned his gaze back to the figures on the training ground. Balin carefully swung his sword in an exaggeratedly slow strike. The hobbit met it, shifting his footing as Balin began another lazy ark from the side. He blocked it again. “I do not wish to see his bravery rewarded with harm,” said Thorin quietly.

“ _Dragon_ , Thorin, at the end of this. That’s if we even make it to the mountain.”

“Any harm that is beyond my ability to prevent,” amended the King. Nori hummed. “What do you think of the other rumor? These predictions of his?”

The thief shrugged, rolling his shoulders. “As I’ve said, it’s interesting. Hobbits aren’t warriors. They rarely leave the Shire as it is. What did he say to you, he’d ‘offer what services he had’? I’d imagine Master Baggins wouldn’t have volunteered if he didn’t think he had something to offer.” Thorin let the words sink in, the enigma that was Bilbo Baggins drawing him in deeper and deeper. Nori ruined it by turning and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Course he could have meant it in a sexual way, _servicing_ the King and all—“

“Nori,” growled Thorin, eyes flashing dangerously, even as his heart skipped a beat at the thought. It was not a displeasing one, but it would be wrong to think of the hobbit in such a way.

“It was a joke!” laughed Nori, backing away slightly. “But I do think it’s interesting that there is such a rumor about the only hobbit who would dare to join your quest. Could be useful if it’s true, having some foresight on our side. It bears watching in any case. Though I suppose you’ve got that covered,” finished Nori slyly, raising a pointed eyebrow at the King. Thorin chose not to comment.

“Well--” Nori clapped his hands together -- “This was fun. Now, if your majesty will excuse me, I have some lurking to do. _Official_ lurking, though if you keep it up at the rate you are there may be some hope for your mastery in the skill yet!”

 

xxx

Despite Nori’s teasing, Thorin did stay and watch Balin and the hobbit spar. He could tell from his movements that Bilbo was tiring, and as he predicted Balin ended their practice soon after. From his vantage point he watched the old dwarf give the hobbit a friendly clasp of the shoulder before heading back into the mountain. Bilbo waved him off, seemingly reluctant to leave. 

As he watched the hobbit rolled his shoulders, nimble fingers digging into his back gingerly. He must have pulled something while he was training. With a sigh he slumped, running a hand through tousled hair. A breeze swept through the yard, lifting his curls gently, the setting sun turning them a bright copper-gold. Thorin watched spellbound as Bilbo turned his face into the light, shutting his eyes and breathing deeply in the evening air, his whole being seeming to glow with the splendor of the sun’s rays. Suddenly it was as if he no longer looked upon a simple hobbit, but some unearthly being, a faerie creature from the dawn of the world, alight with an inner flame, crowned with radiance. Then his body sagged--the spell broken--and he was only a small hobbit again, standing alone in the dusty training yard. Bilbo turned and slowly made his way back inside, rubbing distractedly at his back as he went.

 

Thorin let out a long breath.

Almost without his consent he began to walk, his feet carrying him down to the entrance of the training grounds where he knew there were rooms for changing and washing away the grit of a fight. It did not take him long before he was walking through the wide archway and into the chamber at their front. As he had hoped, someone was already there.

Bilbo sat alone on a bench, slumped wearily against the stone wall behind him. He rubbed at his hands gingerly, massaging the abused tendons as best he could. There would be calluses there in the morning, if they hadn’t formed already. Thorin winced in sympathy at the sight, remembering well the aches and sores that accompanied learning a new weapon. 

“Master Baggins.”

The hobbit’s head snapped up, eyes wide as he took in his presence. “Y-Your majesty!”

“Stay seated, please,” said Thorin, waving the hobbit down when he made to rise.

“Y-yes, thank you,” he mumbled, sinking back to the bench with a slight wince. “Sorry. I’m afraid I’m not quite fit for company at the moment. I haven’t had a chance to change.” Bilbo offered a lopsided smile, eyes darting quickly from the King’s face and back to the floor again. He was nervous.

“Peace,” said Thorin gently. “There is no shame in hard work. Nor the evidence of it. Especially being so fresh off the training grounds.”

“Ah, well. Good.” He gave a sheepish sort of smile, all self-aware and awkward. His bare toes curled, his fingers twisting themselves together in his lap. “Was there…is there anything I can do for you, your majesty?”

Thorin’s eyes snapped back up to his face, realizing with a rush of heat that he had been staring. He cleared his throat. “I know you must be weary, but would you walk with me?”

Bilbo’s face brightened. “Oh, certainly! Yes, yes of course. I’m not so weary as that.”

“Good. I won’t keep you long.” Bilbo looked as if he would say something and then decided against it, humming softly instead. He slid off the bench, only the barest of winces crossing his face as he took his weight on his feet again.

Thorin took care to slow his stride so as to not leave the hobbit behind. Yet it seemed such precautions were unnecessary. Bilbo was surprisingly agile for all that he was smaller and kept pace easily with the dwarf’s longer legs. It did help to settle some of the worries he had for once they were on the road. Nori was right in that hobbits were not known to travel for any great distance.

“Where are your quarters, Master Hobbit?” asked Thorin after a time. 

“My—ah, right, they’re just near—do you know the Eastern Mines? I live right by the passage down.”

Not a residential area. The hobbit was either bunking in worker’s barracks or lived in a shop. “Is that where you work?” asked Thorin casually.

“Yes! Yes it is. I was fortunate enough to procure a small shop with a living space attached. It makes everything much simpler really. I don’t have to get up quite so dreadfully early to set the dough to rising.” 

Thorin hummed. “A baker, are you?”

Bilbo’s eyes twinkled. “You could say that. It’s only a small shop and it’s just me that runs it. There’s plenty of excellent food in the area already! I only make a few specialty treats. The trick is to have my batches ready whenever a shift lets out from the mines. Everyone wants a quick snack fresh out of the oven after a long day.”

“Clever of you. I have only heard endless praise about baked sweets from the Shire. From what I have tried, they have certainly lived up to their reputation.” 

Bilbo beamed up at him. “I’m very glad to hear it! I was a bit worried setting up shop here, that my old family recipes wouldn’t do well, but everything I make gets cleared right out.”

“As it should. Hobbit family recipes are nothing to scoff at, if my understanding of your culture has taught me anything.”

Bilbo gave a quick laugh, the sound bright and clear in the stone halls. “Yes, that much is very true. Why, some recipes are treated as preciously as your courting gifts, if I’m to understand your own customs. I was only relieved that taste in sweets were similar enough between our people that I could set up comfortably enough.”

“Indeed. Are you comfortable here? I know our Halls are very different from your green Shire.”

“Oh yes! I mean--it was a bit of a shock at first.” The corner of his mouth twisted up into a smile. “Stone always underfoot, I can see why you all favour boots. But everyone has been very kind. I don’t regret moving here at all.”

“Good,” said Thorn firmly, something settling in his chest. “I am glad to have as many hobbits living in our halls as there are. Your kind have done us a great service.”

“Oh no, not at all!” Thorin startled at the sudden heat in his voice. “It’s you that’s done us a great service! If you hadn’t come to our aid as you did, I--the Shire wouldn’t...well.” He swallowed, a shadow of grief crossing his face. “There wouldn’t _be_ a Shire.” Hazel eyes met his own squarely, that same unflinching resolve and courage Thorin had seen in the Throne Room reflected back at him. “We owe you our very lives, your Majesty.”

Thorin frowned, troubled. “There is no debt between our people, Master Baggins,” he said lowly. “We have entered into a mutually beneficial alliance, your people and mine. Is that not reward enough of itself?”

“A bit of farming advice and baked goods for protection against orc raids?” Bilbo scoffed, sarcasm giving an edge to his words. “Oh yes, very fair indeed.”

Thorin raised an imperious brow. “Our farms were all but barren. They now thrive under the watchful eyes of your kin. We have a wealth of stores that we’ve never had before and skilled trades persons such as yourself providing us with exotic goods. That is nothing to scoff at, Master Baggins. ”

“And I am glad to hear it,” began Bilbo adamantly. “But King Thorin, you saved the lives of countless hobbits. You had no _reason_ to, yet you did. At great risk to yourself.” He shook his head, huffing out a disbelieving breath. “And you didn’t stop there. You worked tirelessly to see that we survived the winter and were back on our feet--and then you promised us protection should there be another attack! You must understand, such kindness cannot go unanswered.”

“Your people have helped mine incessantly ever since that winter. I say again that there is no debt between us.”

“Not a debt then, but something surely! I may be just a hobbit, but that doesn’t mean I have no sense of honour.”

“ _No_.” Thorin barely kept the growl from his voice. He stopped walking, turning to fully face his companion. This had to be cleared up, and cleared up now. “There is no ‘just’, Bilbo.” His voice softened. “You are not ‘just’ a hobbit. You are Bilbo Baggins, and I am the one who is honoured to have you in my company.” 

Something in the hobbit’s face softened, his eyes widening, mouth open slightly in startled wonder. Thorin took his arm and gently drew him off to the side of the hallway. 

“Is this why you have joined my quest?” asked Thorin softly, fingers curling around the hobbit’s arm. It was so small his fingers nearly touched as they circled the limb. “I would not have you throw away your peaceful life here on account of your guilt towards this debt that does not exist between us.”

“No,” he began, shaking his head firmly. “Not guilt. Not towards you. Never guilt.” Those hazel eyes stared up at him so imploringly, so earnestly, so full off…Thorin felt his heart skip a beat. 

No. Not guilt at all. 

“I...please.” Small nimble fingers closed around his own. “You must let me do this. Let me help you. However I can. I-I couldn’t bear it if you were lost.”

“Do you think we will fail?” asked Thorin quietly, watching the hobbit closely. Nori’s words from earlier echoed in his head. “Is our quest as doomed as they say?”

Bilbo shook his head, curls tumbling over his brow. “No. No, Erebor will be reclaimed.” He said it with such certainty, such conviction Thorin found himself believing it. Then his face darkened, eyes clouding over. “That’s not what I’m worried about...” He sucked in a breath sharply, a hand raising to his temple.

“What is it?” asked the dwarf, voice barely above a whisper. Was this a prediction?

“Just, just a feeling. I-I don’t…” His hand slowly dropped. Thorin caught sight of his eyes.

They were pure black. No hint of hazel, barely any white around the edges. Just pure endless black.

Bilbo blinked. And just like that it was gone, and he was as he had been. 

“Oh,” he mumbled, blinking again. He seemed to come back to himself, aware of where he was and who he was with. “Oh--I’m so sorry!” Bilbo pressed a hand to his mouth, ears flushing a bright red in mortification. “Forgive me, I, I must be more tired than I thought.”

Thorin released a breath, eyes never straying from the hobbit. “Peace. You are weary. I should have noticed sooner you were tiring.” The hobbit opened his mouth and then closed it, shoulders slumping. He looked exhausted suddenly, pale and troubled. Concern rose in Thorin’s heart at the sight. “Come,” he said firmly, fingers tightening around Bilbo’s elbow. “We are nearly at the Eastern Mines. I will see you home.”

Bilbo’s eyes crinkled in something of a smile. “You are very kind, King Thorin.” He noticed his hand clutched around the dwarf’s, eyes widening in embarrassment. He made to draw away, but Thorin caught his hand with his own, curling his fingers around it gently.

“I would have no titles between us, Bilbo. Soon we shall be on the road, and I would not have my companions stand on unnecessary ceremony when they risk their lives for this quest. Please, call me Thorin.”

“ _Thorin_.” He breathed the name so softly, so reverently. A chill when up Thorin’s spine. He found he very much enjoyed the sound of his name from the hobbit’s lips. “Thank you, Thorin. And please, call me Bilbo.”

“Of course, Bilbo.”

Nori was correct about one thing at very least; their hobbit did bear watching. As Thorin guided Bilbo to his modest home, he found he did not mind doing so at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's had a _massive_ crush on King Thorin since they were a little faunt?? ;)


	3. Chapter 3

Thorin stood in the great entrance hall, the doors held open wide to let in the cool air of the outside world. He stared out of it, eyes tracing the winding path down the mountain and through the trees, onto the flat grassy plains, and beyond to the smudge on the horizon that was the distant Misty Mountains, only visible from such a height on a clear morning as this. 

A pack was laid at his feet, a traveling cloak clasped around his shoulders, his sword a comfortable weight at his side. Dawn was only a soft blue glow on the horizon, the air still cool with the blanket of night. 

It was a clear morning that saw the company of Thorin Oakenshield setting out on their quest.

A crowd had formed despite the early hour, forming a half circle around the company gathered in the middle of the hall. For all that the king was about to embark on a quest the mood was anything but jovial. Faces grim and anxious stared back at him, a nervous energy rippling through the crowd. 

His eyes met those of a dam clutching the hands of her children in a somber silence. They were dressed all in dark colours. Mourning colours, he realized with a start. As if he were already dead and they paid their last respects.

Dread twisted in his stomach, pushed back by a lick of anger that so many had faith in only his demise. That so few would support him. 

A low chuckle caught his attention, drawing his gaze to those standing with him. Bilbo stood near the back of the group, smiling and chatting quietly with Bofur. Whatever he said made the toymaker grin and nudge the hobbit playfully. Bilbo looked up and caught Thorin’s gaze, pausing as he did. His smile faltered, and then softened into something more gentle and sure.

Not everyone was without faith it would seem.

Thorin looked away, something settling within him. He breathed deeply in the cool fresh air pushing in through the open doors. It was no matter. He did not need the thunderous approval of his people. He had seen to their needs, finding them a peaceful home and the chance for happiness in their long exile. All was set in place to ensure they lived comfortable lives after he had gone. His duty to his people was fulfilled. 

Erebor was his quest and his alone, as much of a right as a burden; one that would haunt him until the mountain was reclaimed or he went to the halls of his forefathers in death. It was his family that had brought doom upon the mountain and thus it lay with him to see it retaken anew. He would not make the mistake his grandfather had and order a senseless march that led only to war and death. Those few who had chosen to follow him were all the more valued.

Far above them a great bell struck, heralding the break of dawn. Mummers rippled through the crowd, bodies pressing closer to get a last look at their King and his doomed company. It was time to set out.

Thorin hoisted his pack and mounted his pony, his company around him doing the same. Looking up he met the steady eyes of his sister, standing as regent in his place, tall and proud. They had already said their farewells. He drunk in the sight of her, knowing it may be long ere he saw her again. 

Then he turned, leading his company out of the hall and through the open doors into the pale light of a new day.

A great horn sounded, deep and haunting, reverberating throughout the mountains all around them. A mourning call. To herald the passing of the King. Thorin gritted his teeth and urged his pony on, proud and unbowed even with the weight of dread upon him.

He would not see his company throw their lives away. Not when they so willingly followed him into what could be certain death. Nor would he turn his back on his quest. He would do everything in his power to protect those who had rallied to him, and see Erebor returned to light once more.

Curious eyes trailed back to the mountain, the mournful echoes of the horn filling the air around them. The sound stirred something in Bilbo’s heart. He had never heard that horn before, yet the strange deep part of himself that remembered things he had never known recognized the call. He rubbed at his chest absently, brow furrowed in worry. 

It was a sound he knew he would hear again.

 

Xxx

 

The weather stayed fair and clear for the first few days of their journey, the days comfortably cool as they made their way through the forested path down the mountainside and into the grassy plains beyond. 

They made good time and ran into no trouble. Despite any unease a company of dwarves would have felt traveling among trees they were still on the slopes of the mountain range, and the rock put them at ease. Bilbo too seemed to take comfort in his surroundings, though Thorin suspected it was more for the trees themselves than good stone. He was glad of it nonetheless. 

Two days it took them to reach the foot of the mountains and clear the woods that grew on their surface. The lands beyond were rocky and hard, grass sprouting where it could between boulders and cracked rock. Slowly the land gentled, and as the mountains shrunk behind them so too did the grasses grow easier and the path run smoother. 

Spirits were high as there was plenty of food to be had and no rain to dampen their fire and bedrolls. It was as pleasant a journey as Thorin could remember having. 

 

“Master Baggins,” Balin called that night after dinner. “Let’s see how well you’ve remembered your sparring lessons. It would be a shame to loose what skill you have through lack of practice.”

“There’s not much skill at all I’m afraid,” grumbled Bilbo, but he got to his feet gamely nonetheless.

“All the more reason laddie. You’ve got your wee sword, have you?”

“Yes, though I’ll admit I’m still getting used to wearing it. There’s a bit of a trick to it I’d imagine—one that involves not slapping yourself in the thigh every other step that I’ve yet to get the hang of.”

Balin chuckled. “Aye, I can help you with that. But after. Let’s see what you’ve remembered.”

The company watched the practice with from where they were sat around the fire, throwing out encouragement and advice as they saw fit. Balin was clearly going easy on the hobbit, his movements slow and predictable. Bilbo did his best, but it was obviously taxing for him to keep up with the old dwarf. 

The hobbit was nowhere near competent with his sword. His movements were clumsy and he spent more time cautiously circling and darting away then trying to parry or block. But he wasn’t dropping his sword, and he was markedly more comfortable holding the weapon then he had been before. It was a good start. The goal had never been to turn the hobbit into a warrior; It was to provide him with a way to defend himself when they could not. 

Poorly muffled laughter had his gaze sharpening.

Thorin cast a stern glare at his snickering nephews. “Shouldn’t the two of you be practicing as well?” he asked, something defensive sparking in his chest. “Oh no, not with our hobbit,” he added, seeing the mischief alight in their eyes. “Surely skilled warriors wouldn’t lower themselves to such basic practice. Dwalin, I believe it’s been some time since our princes have run through their drills, wouldn’t you say?”

Dwalin grinned, wide and predatory. “Aye, that is has laddie, that it has.” He got to his feet, making a show of cracking his knuckles.

“Uh…actually,” began Kili nervously, backing away. “I was going to, ah, do a bit of, ah, hunting. You know, for uh—”

“And I was going to go as well—” began Fili.

“So really—“

“That’s not necessary—“

“Oh I think it’s very necessary,” grinned Dwalin, advancing on the two.

The company broke out in laughter as Fili and Kili scattered, fleeing from the larger dwarf.

“Get back here!” hollered Dwalin. 

Thorin chuckled quietly to himself. His eyes caught Nori watching him. The thief raised an eyebrow and jerked his head in Bilbo’s direction. Thorin met his gaze evenly, fighting the blush threatening to spread over his cheeks. Nori just smirked and rolled his eyes.

His nephews should know better than to ridicule a beginner. That was all. And it had been too long since they’d done any proper training. It would do them good. That it was the hobbit they were picking on had nothing to do with his setting Dwalin on them. No matter what Nori and his wagging eyebrows had to say. 

“Oi watch it!”

Thorin’s head snapped us just in time to see Kili collide with Bilbo. They went down hard, Kili landing atop the hobbit in a sprawl. Thorin was on his feet and striding towards them before he realized what happened.

“I’m sorry Bilbo!” yelped Kili, quickly getting off the hobbit. “Are you all right?”

“M’ all right,” mumbled the hobbit, flapping a hand in Kili’s direction. He rose unsteadily to his feet, clutching his head. Thorin placed a hand on his shoulder, taking some of his weight. Bilbo rubbed at his forehead. “Caught off guard is all. No harm done.” His voice was muffled from behind his hand.

“Are you sure you aren’t…” 

Wide black eyes stared out of the hobbit’s face, gazing blankly down at the grass. Thorin froze.

“…The bridge is out…” 

The words were said quietly, thickly, no trace of emotion on Bilbo’s face. “What did you say?” Thorin asked slowly.

By now they had attracted the rest of the company.

“What was that, lad?” asked Oin, frowning at the hobbit in concern.

“The bridge is out,” Bilbo repeated duly. He blinked, and suddenly he was himself again, the eerie black gone from his eyes. He sucked in a deep breath, blinking rapidly.

“What bridge?”

“You _saw_ something, didn’t you?” asked Bofur, eyes widening. Bilbo nodded hesitantly.

“What are you talking about?”

“Bilbo gets these visions sometimes,” explained Bofur. “I’ve seen it before and he’s never been wrong. If he says somethin's going to happen then you bet yer beard it will!”

Dwalin snorted. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Well, what did you see, lad?” asked Gloin impatiently.

The hobbit frowned. “There’s…there’s a bridge? I don’t—” he rubbed a hand against his forehead, shutting his eyes. “It’s…broken. Washed away.”

“Oh come now, he’s just making it up!” exclaimed Dori. “How on earth could he know that?”

“He’s seen it, that’s how.”

“There have been plenty of rumors about a hobbit that could predict the future,” added Nori causally. He was standing off to the side of the group, watching with apparent disinterest. Thorin knew better.

“Aye, what about that cave-in? He called it didn’t he?” asked Oin. 

“That was our Master Baggins?” asked Ori, staring at Bilbo in awe.

“It was thanks to him Bifur wasn’t caught in that,” said Bombur. Bifur nodded wildly, grunting something harshly. 

Dori scoffed. “That’s absolute rubbish! How would a hobbit know anything about structural stability in a mountain?”

“Exactly! There’s no way he could have known without seeing it!”

“No. Someone must have told him, or he heard it from somewhere.”

“Well, what do you see, lad?” demanded Gloin. “The bridge washed away? Did it crack down the middle?”

“Did someone do it on purpose?”

“Was it bandits?”

“Is there a pack of orcs waiting for us?”

“Hey, will we become famous heroes when we take back the mountain?” 

“Oi! What about Erebor! Will we succeed?”

“Are we going to kill Smaug?”

“What about the gold?!”

“That’s ENOUGH!” roared Thorin. The camp fell silent. 

Bilbo had a hand pressed to his mouth, face pale and eyes wide. “I…I’m sorry,” he managed after a moment, closing his eyes. “I can’t…can’t see everything. It’s mostly just…just feelings, flashes of things here and there. I don’t always know what it means or when it will happen...” Bifur put an arm around him when he fell silent, saying something softly to the hobbit.

“There you are then,” said Dori. “He doesn’t know anything.”

Bilbo looked up. “I do know a bridge is out. Couldn’t say which bridge... Or where. It’s washed away though. And that I’ve seen it means we’ll have something to do with it.”

Thorin exchanged glances with Balin. They were to cross the bridge over the Lhûn River tomorrow. 

“So, what, will we cross it?” asked Nori. “Will anyone fall in?”

“I don’t…no one will _die_ , but it…it makes me uneasy.” The hobbit bit his lip.

“Look, he’s clearly concussed,” said Dori. “He’s had a knock to the head and saw something that wasn’t there.”

“I’m not concussed!”

“Aye, he’s right there,” added Oin, who had moved to check the hobbit over. He held Bilbo’s face in his hands and turned him this way and that, squinting at him warily. Bilbo bit his tongue and bore the indignity as best he could. “A wee bruise but no concussion,” declared Oin with a nod. “Unless hobbits are very different from dwarves and men.”

“Not that different, no.”

Thorin released a long breath. “It’s been a long day,” he said firmly, breaking off any further arguments. “I suggest we all get some sleep while we can. We’ll face whatever challenges lie in our path tomorrow.”

Gloin nodded in approval. “Aye, cross those bridges when we get there.”

“Or we won’t, if there isn’t one,” added Bofur.

 

Xxx

 

Nori gave a low whistle. “Yep. This bridge is out.”

“Bless my beard, the wee thing was right,” muttered Dwalin, shaking his head.

They had traveled well into the early evening before reaching the river Lhûn, and now it looked as if Bilbo’s prediction had come to pass. There was no bridge to cross. Only the sorry looking posts on either side of the river gave any indication that there had ever been a bridge here at all. Stray bits of rope dangled down into the water, drifting along lazily with the current. 

“But…how?” asked Ori helplessly. “Whatever did it washed away the whole bridge.”

Balin sighed. “It doesn’t matter what did it. The fact is, we can’t use it.”

They all stared into the water. The current was fast here, the river wide enough to make for a dangerous crossing. It was murky too, the water a muddy green where it disappeared into uncertain depths.

“Well, what do we do?” asked Gloin.

“Is there no other place to cross?” asked Bilbo, eyes fixed on the water. He wrung his hands, unable to shake the feeling that something bad would come of this.

Dwalin shook his head. “Not for another few days march. That would take us too far out of the way.”

“ _We cross on foot?_ ” suggested Bifur.

“Looks nice and friendly, don’t it?” said Bofur. “If you slipped, do you think you’d have time to shout before goin’ under?”

Fili puffed up his chest. “We’re dwarves! The stone of our people will not be so easily swept away!”

“It’s sinking I’d worry about,” said Ori. “Who knows how deep it is.”

“Here! Duck!”

Bifur’s long spear went sailing over their heads, soaring in a graceful arc and plunging right down into the murky depths with a _plop!_ It stuck upright, tip buried in the riverbed below. Nearly two feet of the handle was visible over the gurgling water.

Dwalin grunted. “I’d say we cross.”

“We cross on foot,” said Thorin, pushing away the unease that stirred in his gut. There was no other way to cross. They would have to risk it.

In the end they rigged up a makeshift rail for support. Dori had managed to throw a grappling hook across the river and snagged it tightly around what was left of the bridge on the far side. The other end of the rope was tied securely around a tree, stretching it taunt across the river. It was lopsided, but it was something to hold onto while they braved the crossing.

Dwalin had gone first. He wadded out into the river, one hand on the rope and the other gripping the reigns of his pony as he led it across. They watched with baited breath as he made it to the middle of the river and stopped. The water went a little higher than his waist.

“Looks safe enough,” he said.

One by one they began to follow.

It was hard going. With each step more silt and mud gushed out of the slimy riverbed and muddied the water further. It was impossible to see what they were walking through, though it was soft and shifting underfoot, the occasional sharp rock or stick catching them unawares. At least, Bilbo hoped that was what it was. He dreaded to think of the state of his clothes after exposing them to all this muck.

Bilbo winced at the feeling of slimy weeds clinging to his toes and wrapping around his ankles, for once wishing he had accepted the thick boots Balin had offered him. Something sharp shifted under his foot and he slipped, catching himself on the rope with a curse. 

Something was wrong.

They were nearly all across. The sun had started to lower in the sky, sending deep shadows through the trees surrounding the river. What light made it through the trees bounced off the water’s surface, shimmers of orange and gold that tricked the eye to see scales dancing just beneath the ripples.

“Bofur stop!” yelled Bilbo suddenly.

The dwarf froze in mid step, nearly unbalancing in his haste to halt his movement. Something burst out of the water, a flash of scales and sharp teeth lunging violently right where Bofur had been about to step. It crashed back into the water, long body churning the water around it.

Bofur yelled, falling backwards into Bifur to get away from the thing. It exploded out of the water, jumping at Bifur who tried to hit it with his spear. It just missed, its huge long body falling back into the water. The ponies were panicking, fear making them wild. Bilbo watched in horror as wide ripples snaked around the two dwarves. It was headed right for him.

Those on the shore were yelling, trying to pull the others nearby onto land. Dwalin plunged back into the water, teeth bared and axes ready.

Bilbo fumbled for his sword. The water was well up to his chest weighing down his limbs and making his movements dull.

 _Get down_

His heart stopped. He ducked, plunging his body under the water. 

Thorin yelled as he saw the beast lunge out of the water, jaws closing around where Bilbo’s head had been only a moment before. It arched gracefully through the air, snakelike body easily as long as Bilbo was tall. With a flash of scales it was gone again, stirring the water in its monstrous wake.

Bilbo broke the surface, gasping for breath. Something scaly slid by his leg and he yelped, falling forward. Bifur grabbed him, pulling him frantically towards the shore.

The creature launched itself out of the water, monstrous jaw wide as it flew right at Thorin—

And was hewn clean in half by Dwalin’s axe.

Thorin jerked back as it fell on him, both halves of its long body thrashing wildly even in death. “Everyone out!” he roared, pulling the dwarf behind him closer to the bank. 

 

Everything dissolved into chaos as they scrambled madly for the bank, dragging or being dragged by their ponies and doing their best to avoid the bubbling carcass of that _thing_ in the water. 

They did not stop running until they were out of sight and sound of the river, safe on dry land. Only then did they dare stop.

 

“Well, that was fun, wasn’t it lads?” laughed Bofur, ringing out his sopping hat.

Ori collapsed to the ground with a wheeze. “I am never going near water ever again,” he moaned.

“What was that thing?”

“An eel of some kind?” 

“There shouldn’t be any eels in these parts,” said Balin.

“Whatever it was it’s dead now,” growled Dwalin.

“But what if there are others?”

“Then we’ll just make sure not to come by this way again.”

Thorin looked at his bedraggled company, all dripping wet and exhausted. And all miraculously alive if not the worse for wear. “We’ll make camp here. Get a fire going, and dry off as best you can."

“All right, everyone with injuries line up!” called Oin. “We don’t know what that thing was or what kinds of nasty gunk was in that river. I’ll not be having any infections this early on. Kili—get over here!”

“It’s just a scratch!”

“You want that arm to fall off from rot?”

“It’s not going to do that!”

“Oh laddie,” chuckled the healer darkly. “Are ye _sure_ about that?”

“…Um.”

“Then get yer arse over here. Dwalin, you too.”

“See to the others first,” grunted the guard, who was leaning against a tree, axe in hand. His knuckles were bleeding. “I’ll keep watch till it’s my turn. No sense in us all getting caught with our knickers down.”

“Suit yourself. Master Baggins! I saw that, get over here! Ye can’t hide with those bare feet of yours.”

Bilbo sheepishly made his way over. There was a slowly bleeding cut along his right calf. It didn’t look very deep or very big, but the red of his blood stood out sharply against his skin. The sight of it had Thorin’s stomach twisting. He found himself settling closer. 

His company had escaped with only minor injuries. Bifur had a long cut on his arm, and Bofur several smaller ones on his legs. The fins of the eel had been razor sharp, even a graze of its body was enough to slice the skin. Thankfully no one had been bitten.

Kili had an abrasion from the rope on his forearm. He’d been almost out of the water when the great eel attacked, and the rope had been tugged sharply backwards, nearly taking Kili with it. 

Thorin clasped his nephew on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he murmured. 

Kili grinned. “Never mind river monsters, it’s the _rope_ you have to watch out for. Nasty stuff that is.”

Thorin huffed a laugh and cuffed him on the shoulder. “Go on with you. Get your supper.”

His stomach growled at the smell of the stew Bombur was handing out. He would eat when all of his company had been seen to.

Oin held Bilbo’s calf gently, pouring water over the wound to wash away the blood and silt. He peered at it, prodding the edges carefully. Bilbo had his hands clenched tightly, keeping as still as he could. He did his best not to look. “A clean cut,” grunted Oin. “I’m surprised it didn’t go for you first, if you’ll forgive my bluntness. All that bare skin in the water should have drawn its attention.”

“Maybe it was the hair that confused it?” offered Bilbo with a hint of a smile.

Thorin cleared his throat. “Are you all right?” he asked the hobbit, watching Oin bandage the wound carefuly.

Bilbo looked up quickly, noticing his presence. “Yes, yes I’m all right. It only stings a little. Oh! And that monster gave poor Myrtle a nasty scratch.”

“Myrtle?”

Bilbo smiled bashfully. “My pony. Poor girl. They’ve all been so brave.”

“Aye, I’ll have a look at the ponies after I’ve stitched you lot up,” said Oin. “That should hold Master Hobbit.” He patted Bilbo on the shoulder. “No sparring tonight, and put this on the cut next time we stop.”

“Thank you Oin.”

“Ach, it’s my job, lad. You just try to stay out of trouble.”

Satisfied, Thorin stood, intending to fetch supper for himself and the hobbit (to spare his leg the trip). A small hand on his arm stopped him.

“Thorin.” Bilbo’s mouth tugged unhappily “You’re bleeding too.”

“Oh.” There was a small rip in his sleeve, a red patch of blood slowly staining the fabric.

Oin sighed and got to his feet. “I'll get Dwalin first, then I'm dealing with you.”

“Master Baggins,” said Thorin quickly when the hobbit made to leave. “Bilbo,” he corrected softly, pleased when it earned him a smile. “You will tell me the next time you see something? Or have one of your feelings, won’t you?”

“Y-yes, yes I will.” Bilbo looked away, fidgeting with his sleeve cuffs. “Though I’m afraid they’re not always very clear. When I get them. I won’t be able to see everything.”

“And I may not be able to follow your advice." Thorin met his eyes and placed a hand atop the hobbit's. It was soft under his own. "Whatever warning you can give us would be a great help.”

Bilbo swallowed and nodded slowly. “Then you shall have it.”

“Good. It...does it hurt you to see? I will not have you straining yourself on our behalf.”

"Oh, no not really..." Bilbo ran a hand through his curls, not quite meeting the dwarf's gaze. Thorin's hand was large and rough where it covered his own. His heart beat faster at the feel of it. "I can't really control it, when it happens. Sometimes if someone says something specific I can get a feel for how it will turn out. Anything can cause it really. It's not something I can force."

"It does not hurt you?" asked Thorin lowly, hand curling around Bilbo's. His thumb rubbed against Bilbo's comfortingly, each brush making Bilbo's heart flutter. 

"N-no, no it...it's not..." Bilbo heaved a sigh and slumped under the heavy gaze. "It's not a pleasant sensation, no. It can be...draining," he admitted quietly. "It's never caused me serious harm. It's nothing to worry over, really, I won't slow us down!"

A hard look took came over Thorin's features. "You are a part of this company, Bilbo. Your well being is my main concern. I would not abandon anyone should they be slowed by an injury unless I had no other choice or it would endanger them further."

Bilbo nodded, unable to meet Thorin's eyes. "I know."

"If you are in pain, let me know--let anyone know. Oin can make you something to help. I will not have you suffer in silence."

Bilbo huffed a sigh. Really, this dwarf was just too much. He sent him a glare. "It's unlikely to get as bad as all _that_. I usually just feel a bit dizzy or tired. But...yes, yes I will do something should it get worse, unlikely as it is," he added, caving under the heavy weight of Thorin's concern. He sniffed. "My, you are stubborn, aren't you?"

Thorin raised his head haughtily. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he said, eyes twinkling.

Bilbo gave Thorin's hand a good pinch. Warmth blossomed in his chest as the dwarf grinned. 

"Of course you don't."

He turned his hand over and held the larger fingers with his own, heart thumping wildly in his chest at his daring. Bilbo could do nothing to fight the blush on his cheeks as his hand was squeezed gently in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is twice as long as the usual chapters. I was considering cutting it in half, but I already had it written so it seemed a bit of a shame. So have an extra long chapter!

As the days passed the lands around them slowly gentled and turned tame and lush, the grasses tall and near glowing with vibrancy. Great white clouds drifted by overhead, casting lazy shadows on the rippling fields. The mountains had faded into faint dusty shadows on the horizon behind them. Bright friendly faces of wildflowers waved merrily as they passed, the sun a steady warmth on their backs as the rode down the winding path east.

They had entered the Shire.

As always, Thorin felt the familiar sense of peace wash over him, the weight around his shoulders lifting, his breath coming easier and clearer the further into this gentle land he traveled. They were all similarly affected, laughter coming easier and aches forgotten as the plentiful land spread out before them, easy and tame.

He cast a glance back at Bilbo, curious as to how the hobbit would find being home after so many years away. Bilbo’s head was tipped back, eyes shut, the gentle winds rustling through his curls. A blissful expression was on his face. He seemed to be made for this place, out here in the gentle sunshine, as if the very land itself recognized one of its own and welcomed him back. 

Thorin urged his pony to slow until he was riding next to the hobbit. “How long has it been since you’ve last been home?” he asked quietly, not wanting to startle him out of his near trance.

Bilbo blinked, coming back to himself. “Ah ha, well. If you mean the Shire, it’s been, oh…three years? Goodness me, yes. Three, nearly four years now. Strange. It feels longer somehow, yet at the same time it feels like it was only yesterday I moved away.”

The days of travel under the open sky had bleached his hair a lighter shade of reddish gold and turned his skin to a warm bronze. It was bewitching to look upon. “You must miss it,” Thorin heard himself say. “The Shire has a beauty unlike any other.”

Bilbo hummed, looking over the gentle hills fondly. “Mountain Halls are not much for sunshine and windy fields, no. But your mountain terraces—gracious me! Such a sight. I’d dreamed of seeing them when I was a fauntling. I couldn’t believe such things could exist so high up amidst all that rock.” He smiled, kind and sure. “The earth of your mountains is rich and _good_ and the air is fresh in a way I’ve never felt before. There is much for a hobbit to contend themselves with in your mountains. Wildflowers too, if one has a mind to find them. They grow all over the mountain slopes and through the woods, kinds and colours I’ve never seen in the Shire. I can’t tell you what a comfort it’s been to find them there.”

“Do you like wildflowers so much?”

“They’ve always been a favorite of mine. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with a proper garden!” Bilbo added hastily, as if he’d said something scandalous and was trying to cover it up. “There are so many flowers and plants you can grow and it’s a real art tempting out the more delicate blossoms and nurturing their unique needs, I mean no offense to any of that, you understand?”

“Of course.” 

“Of course.” Bilbo sniffed primly. Thorin ducked his head to hide his amusement. As if a dwarf would find fault with a hobbit’s gardening preferences. 

Bilbo softened after a moment, something bashful creeping onto his features. “Wildflowers…well, I know they’re often thought of as only weeds. But I think that’s what I admire about them. Their resilience. They always come back, year after year, no matter what the sky throws at them, no matter if there’s been no one to tend to them. They’re just there, bright and wild for any and all to look upon. It’s a comfort to know when other flowers will wither there will still be some colour to be found. Some life. Even if it’s not very grand.”

A quietness came over the hobbit, some shadow of a memory stretching its long fingers into the present. 

Thorin found himself thinking on the spring after the Fell Winter, how barren and ravaged the Shire had been compared to what it was now. How diminished its people had been. He wondered suddenly if Bilbo had been there, if he had lived through that terrible winter. What would it have been like for a mere child (as he must have been had he been alive for it) to witness such despair, so much death?

“I’m sorry, I’ve been rambling,” Bilbo chuckled ruefully, running a hand through his curls. “All this sunshine goes to my head and I start spouting nonsense. Ridiculous really.”

Thorin’s hands tightened on the reins. He nudged his boot gently against Bilbo’s leg, wishing they were on foot that he could offer some further form of contact without endangering his perch atop his steed.

“It has been many years, yet I can still remember the wildflowers that grew on the slopes of Erebor,” said Thorin. “I do not know what they were called, but they were purple and red in colour.” Bilbo was looking at him, something shinning in his eyes. “I would show them to you.”

“I’d like that very much,” said Bilbo quietly.

Thorin looked away, suddenly flustered. He cleared his throat. “I-I don’t know if they would have survived the dragon’s wrath,” he admitted. “He burned the mountainside when he passed over.”

Bilbo hummed. “Things grow back. They always do. Some just take more time than others.”

 

Xxx

 

By midday they had reached a town. They were greeted by many curious eyes and whispers, hobbits stopping their tasks to watch the procession of dwarves pass in wonder. 

Thorin had sent word of his quest to the Shire, to assure them that should he not return their alliance would still stand, and the Blue Mountains would continue to support the Shire for as long as a Durin reigned. 

He had not expected any show of support, but that was exactly what his company received.

Word spread quickly of the mountain King passing through the Shire on his quest, and soon hobbits lined the roads where they traveled, waving and cheering. Hobbits were no warriors, they knew if they wished to support their ally on his quest they would be of no use in a fight. So it was a warm welcome they received instead, offers of free meals and free housing being extended whenever they passed near enough to an Inn for the owners to run out and approach their group, and many well-wishes and cheers in their honour.

The dwarves looked on in bemused wonder, many puffing out their chests proudly and waving, much to the delight of the onlookers. Some hobbits stepped forward and pressed wrapped pastries and sweet foods into their hands, or brought them tankards of ale and beer. A small part of Thorin worried his men would conduct themselves poorly, but each dwarf remembered their manners and treated the hobbits with respect, albeit a bit flirtatiously on some of their parts. 

It bolstered Thorin’s spirits to see such honest support after months of his kin voicing their doubts. If anything it was Bilbo who was drawing the most attention, the lone hobbit ridding with a group of dwarves. Wherever he passed whispers followed in his wake, and many nodded solemnly at him. 

Thorin was astonished when a group of small fauntlings stepped out onto the road. Under the watchful eyes of their elders they presented him with a bouquet of flowers. He thanked them gravely, much to their delight, and maneuvered the flowers into the crook of his arm with as much dignity as he could manage in his bewilderment.

He glanced at Balin at his side, hoping his advisor could explain what the flowers meant. Balin only chuckled. “You know as well as I that the giving and receiving of flowers is an important part of hobbit culture.”

“But what does it mean?” muttered Thorin. “And why are they giggling?”

Balin raised an eyebrow. “I suspect they are giggling because they are fauntlings, and a handsome mountain King has accepted their flowers.”

Thorin felt himself blushing. He was not considered to be very attractive by his people’s standards. However he had found over the years that his features were often considered handsome to men. Perhaps this was true of hobbits as well? He tried to squash the hopeful thumping of his heart at the thought. “Should I have refused them?”

“’Course not,” grunted Dwalin, shooting him an offended glare. “See how happy they were? Did you want to make the wee ones cry?”

“No.”

“Then keep holding those flowers and look nice and pretty for them, aye?”

“But what do they mean?”

“Master Baggins?” called Balin, turning back on his saddle. “Perhaps you could offer your expertise?”

Bilbo urged his pony on to join them up front. “Glad to, though I’m not sure I’d…oh, what a lovely bouquet, Thorin.”

“Indeed,” chuckled Balin. “We were hoping you could tell us what it means.”

Bilbo gave the flowers a closer look, head tilted thoughtfully. He smiled. “Oh my, that’s a very pointed message.”

“Pointed?”

Bilbo chuckled. “Don’t worry. It’s only good things. Hmm, let’s see…courage, victory and strength. Admiration, innocent affection, protection, very fitting for a king. Especially when gifted by fauntlings.”

“It says all that?” asked Dwalin, leaning over to squint suspiciously at the flowers.

“Oh yes, but I’m just summarizing. Here. If I may…?”

“Of course.” Thorin handed the flowers to over Bilbo, careful not to squash them. The hobbit held them gently, and carefully pointed out a few white flowers.

“Daisies for hope and innocence. Bay leaves for glory—hold on to those, we can use them for broth--daffodils for regard. Nasturtium for victory and conquest. Gladiolus for strength of character and honour. Dill is for protection from evil.” The hobbit broke out into a bright smile as he touched some wide leaves framing the flowers. “And oak leaves of course! For strength, and for Thorin Oakenshield himself.” His eyes twinkled as he handed them back to Thorin. “A very fine bouquet.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course what you should have is a proper crown, being a King and all,” Bilbo mused.

“Oi, he’s got a perfectly fine one!” protested Dwalin.

“A flower crown, I mean,” Bilbo corrected absently. He gazed at Thorin calculatingly, hand over his mouth as he hummed. “Violets, red carnations, gardenia, edelweiss… and blue roses. Definitely blue roses. Yes, that would suit.”

“What do blue roses mean?” asked Balin.

“…Hmm?”

“Blue roses, laddie. What do they mean?”

“Oh, well…” Bilbo coughed and fidgeted in his saddle, not meeting their gazes. “Blue and purple can mean royalty or majesty. Fitting.” He gave a nod. “Blue means something unattainable or mysterious. It would stand for Erebor,” he added hastily, “in that we are reaching for something many would consider beyond reach. By gifting them it’s symbolic of, well, achieving that. They can mean enchantment and wonder, things that, ah, relate to the quest and, and all of, yes.” Bilbo cleared his throat, a blush spreading across his features. “Oh dear me, I think that’s my great aunt waving at me, I really must greet her.”

Dwalin outright sniggered as the hobbit fell back to ride near the back of the group. Thorin frowned at his friend. “Don’t mock him.”

“I’m not mocking the wee lad.”

“Then what?” The brothers shared an exasperated glance over his head. “What?”

“The flowers, Thorin,” offered Balin helpfully. Thorin stared at his adviser uncomprehendingly. He sighed. “Blue roses mean something unattainable or beyond reach, the lad said. Something majestic and enchanting…”

Thorin looked at him blankly. “Erebor.”

“Ach, ye daft bugger, he weren’t talking about Erebor!”

“Then what…” Thorin trailed off, frowning. Balin patted him kindly on the arm, chuckling. “Never mind now.”

Thorin did mind. He minded very much if it brought such reactions from his friends and concerned their hobbit. But he put the thought aside for now. 

Though silently he began to think to himself that it might be suitable, once they had fulfilled their quest and reclaimed Erebor, to ask the hobbit if he wouldn’t mind making this crown of flowers for him to wear.

 

Xxx

 

It took them two days to cross through the Shire. On the second they were invited by the Thain himself to spend the night in the Great Smials. An honour, Bilbo assured them.

The Thain was waiting for them with a small cluster of hobbits as they rode up to the Great Smials. Gerontious Took wore nothing to make him stand apart from other hobbits, perhaps the only thing that could indicate his title being the particularly fine embroidery on his clothes and the expensive buttons on his jacket. 

“King Thorin! You are most welcome in our lands.”

“Thain Gerontious.” Thorin nodded his head respectfully and dismounted from his pony, his company doing the same behind him. “I thank you for your generous welcome.”

“Oh tosh, it’s the least we could do. Especially with you going on a quest! I’m afraid we’ve not much to offer in terms of military assistance, but…“ his eyes found Bilbo. “I see you already have the support of one of our very best.”

“Hullo Grandfather,” greeted Bilbo, waving sheepishly under the combined gaze of all present. 

“Bilbo Baggins, it’s been years!” The old hobbit huffed and marched over, pulling his grandson into a tight hug. 

Bilbo hugged him back just as tight. “It’s good to see you too,” he said into his shoulder, pulling back to smile at the Thain. Gerontious patted him on the back and released him, turning to face his guests.

“Enough of this standing around! You all must come inside. We have our very best guestrooms ready for you. There’s just enough time to freshen up before supper. Alfo, see to their ponies, that’s a good lad.”

“Bilbo, you’re related to the Thain?” hissed Kili, pulling the hobbit aside as they all filled inside the smials.

“Well yes, but so are a great many hobbits.”

“But you’re in line to become the Thain?” asked Fili from his other side.

“Very far down that line. We do tend to have rather large families, you know. And I mean _very_ large. I have over a dozen first cousins alone. The chances of me ever taking that title are slim indeed, and I don’t think I should accept even if it were offered.”

“That means you’re royalty!”

Bilbo sighed. “No, it really doesn’t.”

“I thought I’d taught you two better than that about hobbit society,” cut in Balin, raising an eyebrow at the princes.

“It wasn’t very interesting,” muttered Kili, before blanching and turning to Bilbo in horror. “Not that hobbits aren’t interesting! It’s just we didn’t know how interesting hobbits are until we’d properly met one!”

“Which was only just before the quest,” added Fili.

“And you’re the only race that doesn’t have _proper_ titles and kingdoms, it’s such a hassle to learn it all.”

Balin glowered. “Is that so? I’m glad to hear the princes think foreign relations are a _hassle_.”

Fortunately for the princes they had reached a long hallway with rooms enough for the whole company, and quickly ducked off into one, escaping their mentor’s wrath.

Balin sighed. “I am sorry about them, laddie. They mean no disrespect.”

Bilbo only chuckled, waving the old dwarf off. “None taken. They are young yet, and as long as they are earnest in their interest none of my kin will be offended.”

“You’re a good lad, Bilbo.” The dwarf smiled warmly and clasped him on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re with us.”

“So am I.”

 

xxx

 

Dinner was a merry affair, taken in a large dinning room with much of the Thain’s family in attendance. The huge wood table was near groaning under the weight of all the food, and it seemed as soon as one platter had been cleared it was whisked away and replaced with a fresh one. Wine and beer were free flowing, with tea and coffee offered for afters and deserts. Everything was delicious, as to be expected of any formal meal in the Shire.

Gerontious listened with interest of their Quest and offered what council he could on the best ways out of the Shire and to Bree, should they choose to stop by. 

When finally it was late and not even the most determined of hobbit could stomach just one more helping, they were bid goodnight with promises of clean and mended clothes waiting for them in the morning, to say nothing of a huge breakfast and provisions for the road.

The company tottered off to their rooms, happy and full, but Thorin found he could not sleep. The room he had been assigned was comfortably furnished, all smoothed wood and soft earthen tones. It was a welcome relief to be underground again, to feel good solid earth packed in all around, even if it was a hill and not a mountain stronghold. Yet he could not sleep.

Rising, he donned a finely embroidered robe left out on a chair near the bed. It was a touch too short, falling just past his hips and showing a bit too much wrist, but it was warm and wide enough. He quietly slipped from his room, closing the door gently behind him. It was late, the only sounds he could hear from the smial were the muffled snoring of his companions and beyond that a rustling of leaves from outside. The hallway was illuminated in blues and purples from the faint light of a round window set at the far end of the hall, and he made his way towards it, steps strangely muffled in the silence of the night.

The hallway branched off, and a waft of clean, cool air had him following it out onto a small balcony, overlooking the gardens surrounding the smials. Blinking, a smile touched his lips. It seemed he was not the only one who could not find sleep.

“Oh, hullo.” Bilbo was leaning against the railing, a soft patchwork robe drawn over his nightclothes. He offered the dwarf a smile. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“No. Though I cannot fathom the reason.” He joined the hobbit by the railing, leaning his weight against it and looking out into the night. “I have not had a bed so comfortable since we left the Blue Mountains, yet sleep eludes me.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” A look of horror crossed Bilbo’s face and he waved his hands in dismay. “Not that I’m glad to hear you cannot sleep! Of course not! I only meant that I’m glad you approve of your bed. Oh dear me.”

Thorin chuckled warmly, charmed by his flustering. “Do not worry. I know what you meant.” He nudged Bilbo gently with his shoulder to show no harm was done.

The hobbit let out a sigh, his body slumping. “Oh good. Don’t mind me. I’m afraid I must have overindulged at dinner and muddled my wits.”

Thorin hummed. “A meal like that deserves to be overindulged in. I doubt there was a dwarf that did not do the same.”

Bilbo cocked his head and fixed him with a strange look. “You are kind, you know?” he said after a while. He put his hands in his pockets and looked out at the garden. “What I had meant to say earlier is that telling a hobbit you find their home to be comfortable is some of the highest praise you can give. Our real wealth is measured in hospitality. Good food and plenty of it, comfortable homes, a large family and many parties and celebrations to share that wealth with others.”

“Not a bad way of life at all,” said Thorin.

“No, no it isn’t.”

Out in the garden were soft glowing lights, fireflies drifting lazily from blossom to blossom, painting their petals in warmth as they passed. A wind chime sounded in the gentle breeze, it’s soft notes carrying over the rustle of leaves. Bilbo sighed, tipping his head back and drinking in the peaceful night. Moonlight turned his hair a soft, glowing white, the earthen tones of his skin washed in blue. He looked like he was made for this place, these soft peaceful lands and gentle winds and it tore at his heart to think of the danger they would face.

“Will you stay here?” Bilbo looked at him. “Here, in the Shire. No one will think any less of you if you choose not to join us in the morning.”

The hobbit snorted. “Certainly not, thank _you_. I gave my word and I fully intend to keep it. Besides, how will I ever get better with my sword if I don’t practice?”

“You would be safe,” pressed Thorin. He did not want the hobbit to leave. Not at all. But his safety was more important. “Happy. No one would hold it against you should you choose to stay. Least of all me.”

“Yes, I would be happy here,” mused Bilbo lightly. He shot Thorin a look, surprisingly sharp. “Just as you would be happy turning around and going back to the Blue Mountains, hmm?”

Thorin huffed. “I cannot put aside my duty to Erebor. My fate is tied to that of the mountain. I cannot ignore its call.”

“Plenty of folk seem to think you should do just that,” said Bilbo pointedly.

“And what do you think?” Suddenly he was filled with the burning desire to know what the hobbit thought of his quest. “Is it just senseless folly? Should we turn back?”

“I think,” began Bilbo slowly, “sometimes what’s easiest and safest isn’t always the best path to take. You wouldn’t feel right with yourself if you choose to stay in your halls, safe and secure, Erebor forever out of reach.” He nodded to himself. “Neither would I if I stayed in the Shire. Besides,” he quirked a smile, eyes bright. “I’ve already sworn myself to your quest in front of your entire court. I’d rather not be made a dishonest hobbit.”

Something relaxed in Thorins’ chest. “I only worry for your safety,” he confessed. “We will protect you as best as we can, but I cannot guarantee you will be unharmed.”

“I know that. Goodness me, I certainly didn’t sign up for this expecting to have a personal guard or any such nonsense. I want to help you however I may, not be a burden.”

Thorin swallowed harshly. “You are not a burden,” he said lowly, meeting the hobbit’s gaze with his own.

Bilbo looked away, a faint blush spreading across his features. He cleared his throat, toes wriggling. “Well, that’s—thank you. I have been trying, you know?”

“I know, and I couldn’t be happier with your efforts.”

“Kind of you. If it’s all the same, I’d like to continue to try.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely.”

Thorin sighed, long and low. Bilbo’s safety had already been weighing on his mind, and would only do so the further into danger they traveled. But he could not deny how the hobbit had come to grow on him, on all of them, helping out around camp and keeping their spirits up with his cooking and steady devotion to their cause. That was to say nothing of his predictions. 

He smiled gently at the smaller being, nodding his head in a bow. “Then I will be glad of your company, Bilbo Baggins, as long as you choose to give it. Indeed, I admit I am relieved to have you staying with us. We would all miss you.”

Bilbo laughed, running a hand through his curls. “You’ve a funny way of showing it. I had begun to think you were trying to get rid of me!”

“Nonsense. I only worry for your safety. But we will need our lucky number if we are to see this through.”

“It’s my pleasure then, to be your lucky number.” He sketched a small bow, grinning. “I’m not certain if I’ve much experience being a good luck charm, though.”

“I assure you, you’ve already been doing marvelously.”

“High praise indeed, O King.”

 

Xxx

 

The weather took a turn for the worse once they left the Shire, as if the sun had lingered behind among the rolling hills and left them to face the fog and heavy clouds on their own. For a fortnight the greatest hindrance they faced was the constant rain and lingering fog. Bilbo had warned them extensively about the danger of the Barrow Downs, so they skirted well around them, staying to the main roads. 

Bree was wet and muddy, large buildings looming over the crooked streets like tall cloaked strangers. They did not linger, despite the welcome respite from the road and the rain the Inn offered. Bree was home to many unsavory folk, and they did not want to draw attention to themselves as they passed through.

They left without incident, and soon were in the Trollshaws. The road turned rugged and wild, trees springing up around them and great rock formations loomed between, silent misshapen sentinels dotted through the woods.

“I don’t like these woods.” 

Bilbo was riding beside Oin near the back of the group. It had been drizzling all morning and showed no sign of stopping. What they could see of the sky was dull and grey between the awnings of leaves. He had been feeling strange as soon as they had set foot in the Trollshaws and the feeling had only grown the further into them they traveled. 

Oin grunted and blinked rain out of his eyes. “That’s funny. I thought you lot were all for trees and growing things.”

“We are. But I don’t like these ones.” Something tickled at his mind, a whisper of danger, too fast for him to catch. He drew his cloak around him anxiously. “Do you think we’ll be clear of them by tonight?”

“Doubt it. Even if we were, we’d need them for shelter when we make camp.” He studied the hobbit with a weathered eye, frowning. “You having one of your feelings again, laddie? See anything?”

Bilbo worried the worn cuff of his sleeve. “Something like that,” he admitted. “It’s faint. I can’t quite make it out. But I wish we could be free of these trees.”

“You’ll let us know if you see something more, eh…specific?”

“As soon as I know.”

“Good lad, good lad.” 

 

Xxx

 

The rain did not let up. If anything it only came down harder, splashing and dripping through the leaves to make it a thoroughly wet and miserable company at the end of the day. 

“There’s a farmhouse up ahead!” called Fili. He had been sent with his brother to scout for a suitable place to stop for the night. Both had returned looking excited and well pleased with themselves. 

“Finally some good news,” groaned Gloin, wringing out his drenched beard.

“Do you think they’ll let us stay the night?” asked Ori hopefully.

Kili shook his head, his wet hair sticking haphazardly to his face. “It’s abandoned. Most of the roof has collapsed along with a wall or two but it’s better shelter than out here. Might even be able to get a fire going in there.”

Even the chance of a warm meal was too good an opportunity to pass up. “Lead the way,” conceded Thorin. “Let us see this house of yours.”

It was a lone structure a short ways from the path, the stone pillar of the fireplace propping the rest of the building up. The roof sagged inwards, a great hole in the middle letting in the rain and rotting away parts of the floor. But it offered shelter on nearly three sides, and provided the wind didn’t change direction they could have a fire and a dry place to sleep.

“We’ll make camp here.”

“Wait!” It was Bilbo. His eyes were wide and his face pale. “Wait, there’s something wrong with this place.”

“Oh here we go,” muttered Dori.

“What’s wrong?” asked Kili eagerly. “Are you having a vision?”

“He was saying something earlier about the trees,” offered Oin. “Something off about them, he said.”

“I was wrong.” Bilbo shook his head. “It’s not the trees. There’s something…something in them.”

“What?” demanded Gloin, gripping his axe. “In the trees? Inside them?” Ori jumped back from a tree, gripping his slingshot threateningly as if expecting it to suddenly grow teeth and bite.

“No! Not inside them,” snapped Bilbo. His eyes were squeezed shut, a hand pressed to his brow as if in pain. “In the woods. There’s something, something waiting. Searching. Hunting.”

“And you didn’t say anything about this before we entered these dratted woods?”

“I didn’t know what it was.” Bilbo lowered his hand from his brow. His eyes were clear of any black, but his features were pained and troubled. “Still don’t, but it’s been getting worse all day. And _that_ building made it worse then ever.” He pointed a damning finger at the abandoned farmhouse.

Dori groaned. “Of course it did. Can’t you have any useful visions?”

“Now _that_ was uncalled for,” said Bofur, glaring darkly at Dori. 

Bilbo seemed to take no notice. “Is there any way we can make it out of the Trollshaws tonight?” 

Dwalin shook his head. “It’s a four hour ride at least. And we’re all tired and hungry.”

“Doubt the rain will let up anytime soon,” added Balin, squinting at the sky.

They stared at the farmhouse for a long moment, standing in the rain and their wet clothes, stomachs growling unhappily. A gust of wind swept up, droplets cascading down from the leaves and hitting them from all directions.

“I say we risk it.”

“Aye, I’m not moving any further.”

“Me neither.”

Thorin sighed. They couldn’t go any further tonight, and it was doubtful they’d find a better spot. “We make camp. Keep on your guard, all of you. We’ll have two on watch at all times. Oin, Gloin, try to get a fire going. Bilbo, if this thing in the woods comes any closer…let us know.”

Bilbo nodded, eyes darting around uncertainly at the trees. The company split off, relieved groans sounding on all sides and fights over the driest spots of floor beginning to break out. Thorin peered out into the woods, the gloom of the rain and lateness of the day hiding whatever secrets lay in wait. Bilbo still hadn’t moved, looking very small in his wet cloak, curls plastered to his forehead from where they poked out under his hood.

Bombur came up and took the hobbit by the arm. “Come on Bilbo,” he said, pulling him gently towards the farmhouse. “Let’s see what we can put together for supper, alright?” 

Thorin watched him go, brow furrowed in concern. He still didn’t know how much he should trust Bilbo’s warnings. He had been right before, warning them about the river beast and saving Bofur’s life. It would be better to take the warnings to heart to be safe, but they were vague and thus difficult to accommodate. None of them wanted to abandon what shelter they could find. Perhaps Bilbo was sensing something far away? Or some small pack of wolves, easily driven back by fire? 

He could only hope the hobbit was wrong. And stay on his guard.

“What do you suppose took out that wall?”

Thorin startled, not realizing Nori was standing next to him. “Took out?”

“Look.” He pointed to the half-crumbled wall of the farmhouse. “Something’s knocked it down. It’s not just natural decay. Unless walls in these parts naturally erode to look like someone took a battering ram to their outsides?”

Thorin’s stomach twisted, his mouth dry. 

Nori nudged him. “Good call on that extra guard, aye?”

 

Xxx

 

They did manage to get a fire going. The warmth was more than welcome, as was the prospect of a hot meal and a dry place to sleep. Thankfully the rain had let up to a gentle drizzle, and many hung up wet clothes to dry as best they could in their shelter. 

On the surface everything was peaceful. Yet Thorin couldn’t shake the unease that had begun to grip him. The shadows cast by the fire licked long flickering fingers against the remaining walls of the house. The light of their little fire was barely enough to cut through the wet haze outside. Peering out, he could see very little, only the hulking shapes of trees disappearing into the gloom.

“Thorin.” He glanced over at Nori who gave a quick dip of his head in Bilbo’s direction. “He’s going funny again.”

Their hobbit had gone quiet a half-hour ago and had only withdrawn further. He was sitting by the fire, listlessly worrying a long piece of grass between his fingers. Bombur and Bofur had sat themselves on either side of him, the later placing a hand on his shoulder and murmuring something gently. Bilbo shook his head slowly, eyes not leaving the glowing embers of the fire where they’d been fixed. 

“It’s all right lad,” Bofur said kindly, nudging the hobbit. “All of us can handle ourselves in a fight. Got some warriors to our party as well! Why, I reckon nothin’ short of an army or old Smaug himself could best us!”

“But we’ll be getting old Smaug too, won’t we?” said Ori eagerly. “Even the worm won’t be a problem for much longer!”

“Maybe,” grumbled Dori. “But we’ve got to get there first.”

“Aye, and hope Smaug doesn’t get us before we can get him.”

Gloin scoffed. “He’s probably dead anyway, or choked on his own greed, damned beast.”

“I don’t know,” added Ori thoughtfully. “Dragons have been recorded to live for hundreds of years. No one even knows if they die naturally of age as most have been killed or slunk away beyond recording.”

“Well lads, we can all look forward to that!” grinned Bofur cheerfully. “Maybe he’ll have gotten even stronger, old Smaug.”

“Don’t jinx us!” scolded Oin. “It’s bad luck to say so!”

Dori snorted, shaking his head. “What absolute rubbish. That’s just a silly old superstition and nothing more.”

“Oi you take that back!”

“Under no circumstances!”

“Ooh lads, looks like we’ve got ourselves a fight!” declared Bofur gleefully, rubbing his hands together. “Place yer bets now.”

“Oh really!”

“Five coins on Dori.”

“Ten on Oin,” called Nori.

Bofur looked at him askance. “Really? Dori can bend tempered steel with his bare hands.”

“Yeah but Oin’s a healer. He knows _exactly_ which parts to go for. And besides, it’ll piss Dori off if I bet against him.”

“Aye, can’t fault ye there, my friend.”

Thorin had no eyes for the squabble breaking out among his companions. He was confident Dwalin and Balin would keep things from escalating. 

His attention was focused entirely on the small hobbit who had not blinked for the last full minute, his eyes steadily darkening.

“Stew’s ready!” announced Bombur. Immediately the arguing stopped, everyone settling down eagerly as the round dwarf began handing out steaming bowls. Bilbo remained as he was, completely oblivious to the movement around him.

“Come on lad,” said Bombur quietly, nudging Bilbo. “What you need is something nice and warm in you. I know how you hobbits get without enough meals.”

Bilbo’s eyes were fixed on the fire, his fingers rhythmically plucking at the sprig of grass in his hands.

 _Rip, rip, rip_ went the grass.

“Here.” Bombur held out a bowl for the hobbit, waving it invitingly in front of him. “Have some nice hot stew. We’ve got that mutton from the other night to thicken it up.”

No, it wasn’t the fire he was looking at. It was the heavy pot they had placed above it.

“Aww mutton _again?_ ”

“If you want something else to eat, by all means, go on and catch us something!”

“Don’t get so testy. It’s just getting a bit old, is all. Not really a delicacy by any means, mutton is.”

Bilbo’s eyes turned black.

“Aye, best get used to it. It’s traveling fare this way out. Just be glad we’re not living off of cram yet.”

With a sudden gasp of horror the hobbit jerked back, his hands clasping over his mouth, eyes wide and unseeing. The camp fell quiet instantly.

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo had gone pale, gaze darting around desperately. “W-We need to leave—we need to leave _now_ , there’s something coming!”

“What is it?”

“Oh come on, we just got our food!”

“You said that earlier, is it closer now?”

“Have you seen something?”

“Can we eat first?”

“Quiet!” demanded the hobbit. “Please, _please_ be quiet, just for a moment!”

“Shazara!” Thorin growled out, his company falling silent around them. They listened tensely, the low crackle of the fire filling the night, the wind rusting through the trees, droplets landing against their shelter. 

A bird gave a low call. 

In the fire a log gave a sudden _crack_ sending Gloin and Ori jumping at the sound.

Dori let out a long sigh. “Well,” he said primly. “There’s nothing there.”

A loud whinny cut him off, drawing their gaze as one to where the ponies were a little ways off from camp, just out of sight behind a patch of trees. Another whinny followed. Then another.

“…Aren’t Fili and Kili watching the ponies?” asked Ori, clutching his scarf.

“Aye,” replied Dwalin slowly. He rose to his feet, hand going to his axe.

“Did you feel that?” cried Bofur, hands pressed to the ground. Bifur had joined him, eyes shut as he listened to the stone. “Somethin’s coming. Somethin’ big!”

Bilbo gave a low moan, his hand pressed against his mouth tightly. “Three of them,” he uttered. His eyes cleared. 

“Three of what?!”

“Trolls,” breathed Bilbo. They stared at him in horror. “They’re hungry.”

“Douse the fire!” roared Thorin, jumping to his feet. The camp sprang to action, everyone scrambling to grab belongings and weapons. “Leave the stew!”

Dwalin, Fili and Kili charged into the clearing, the ponies trailing behind them. “The ponies, what can we do about them?”

“Hold onto them, keep them calm. We need to stick together and move!”

Almost as soon as Thorin had finished speaking the ground began to shake, huge footsteps stomping towards them out of the gloom. The ponies whinnied in fear, eyes white, and bolted in every direction. Lightening flashed overhead, illuminating the huge monstrous troll grinning at them from the trees.

They scattered, whatever order there was lost to the chaos of two more trolls lumbering into their camp from either side, drawn by the noise and the light of their fire. Thorin could hear his company yelling and shouting to each other, trying to fend off the huge hands of the trolls grabbing for them. 

Bilbo had said they were hungry. He did not like to think what the trolls would do should they be caught.

In a direct fight, thirteen dwarves and a hobbit stood very little chance against three trolls. But if they spread out, attacked from all sides and confused the beasts into a rage they could best them. 

This was easier said then done.

A giant hand closed around Fili’s middle, lifting him high in the air. With a shout, one of Kili’s arrows pierced it in the eye, followed almost immediately by a rain of stones from Ori’s slingshot. The troll roared and dropped Fili, covering it’s wounded eye and lifting one huge leg to crush the dwarf beneath it. Thorin charged forward, darting behind the beast and slashing at the back of its leg with his sword. If it were a being of flesh and bone it would have crumbled, hamstrung. The troll merely staggered, allowing Bifur to drag Fili to safety. 

“Thorin!”

He turned at Dwalin’s warning, just in time to slash at the huge hand of another troll reaching for him. He darted away between the huge bodies, slashing where he could until he was free of them. Panting, he squinted through the gloom for his company, trying to make out their fleeing forms between the shadows of trees and the flashes of lightning. Rain dripped into his eyes and he wiped at them angrily, shouts and cries filling the night, interspersed with the yowls of the trolls.

Breath caught, he made back into the fray. Only to find his company had scattered, the trolls chasing them off into the trees, great lumbering footsteps sounding distantly all around with the accompanying curses and cries of his kin growing more distant by the second. 

He made off after the nearest voices, dread coiling in his gut. They stood little chance if they were scattered. If they were very lucky they could loose their pursuers to the trees and regroup, escaping this wretched place. But scattered as they were it would be impossible to tell who had gotten away and who had been captured until it was too late.

It was a long and miserable night.

Thorin attacked the trolls were he could, drawing their attention from his fellows and battling away their grasping hands, darting away into the undergrowth when their attentions grew too much. Many times he lost the trolls in the woods, meeting up with others and struggling to regroup. But it was no good. The trolls were aiming to capture, not kill, and though they were slow they were powerful. Eventually there was long row of sacks, a dwarf each stuffed in their coarse smelly confines, at the troll’s own camp. It had taken the beasts a while, but they had realized threatening to dismember any of their company led to the surrender of their prey.

Licking his lips, Thorin watched from his own sack as the trolls squabbled over the best way to cook them. The rain had died down, allowing the trolls to light a huge fire, a roasting spit and a large cauldron placed above it. Bilbo had been right. There were hungry. 

They were also arguing.

“I says we eats ‘em raw. Nice and crunchy that way.”

“They needs some frying if you want crunchy.”

“Why don’t we just shove ‘em in the stew? Already gots it going, haven’t we?”

“Blast the stew! We’ve ‘ad nothing but stew for the last week! I wants somethin’ thick and meaty.”

“Then put em over the spit, I says. Nothing like nice crispy dwarf.”

Doing a quick headcount, Thorin realized that they were one short. Twisting his body as best he could, he made out twelve sacks. He could only see so much of his companions to figure out who was missing. There was Dwalin, Fili, Dori for sure. Bofur’s voice he’d heard, Nori, Kili complaining, Bifur’s beard. And that was Gloin shouting. He couldn’t be sure of the rest. His heart thumped painfully inside his chest. Had someone managed to get away? Were they watching even now from the trees? Or did they lie injured or worse somewhere in the woods?

“Let’s start with this one! It’s nice and plump.”

Thorin gritted his teeth as Bombur was hoisted into the air, examined like a piece of meat at market by their captors. He struggled against his bonds, trying desperately to break free of the scratchy sack. To his shock it started to give, one of the knives on his person slicing through the cloth. He wriggled desperately, trying to cut as much as he could to at least free his arms.

“On the spit, then?”

“Aye, that’s what we said, didn’t we?”

“Alright, stop wriggling now.”

The dwarves were shouting and cursing as one of the trolls reached for the spit, but they could do nothing but watch. Thorin got one hand free, reaching for his knife and cutting away at the sack as best he could.

“Wait!” 

Heart pounding, Thorin twisted his body to see the small form of their hobbit walking calmly into the middle of the camp, unconcern with the scene before him. His eyes were completely black. 

“Wait wot?”

“Why isn’t he in a sack?”

“Oi, get a sack, we missed one.”

Bilbo just looked at them, steady and calm. “You don’t want to do that.” Panic made Thorin’s vision blur, and he forced himself to calm, to keep his hands steady as he worked. He was nearly free.

“Like bloody hell I don’t.”

“No, what’s he on about?”

“Death comes for you in the morning sun.” The hobbit’s voice sent shivers down his spine, something _wrong_ about it, though he couldn’t say what.

“Oi! It must nearly be dawn! We have to get back to the cave!”

“Don’t be daft ye bugger! You see any sun?”

“It’s not out just yet, give it a minute.”

“It’s _raining_. Ain’t gonna be no sun today.” The trolls relaxed, dropping their gazes from the sky and back to the hobbit in their midst.

“Sorry little ferret,” leered one of the trolls, leaning down to face Bilbo directly. Bilbo didn’t even flinch. “No sun commin’ for us today. But _you_ on the other hand will make a right nice snack,” the troll growled, huge hand reaching for the hobbit.

A snarl rose in Thorin’s throat. He’d cut away the worst of the sack and gotten free, the knife in his hand sharp and ready for the wretched beast that would even _think_ to hurt their hobbit. Before he could throw himself at the trolls, a great cry shook the air.

“May the dawn take you all!” 

A crash of thunder split the sky, a brilliant bolt of lightning piercing the clouds asunder and out of the gap spilled the sun, early rays painting the ground a brilliant bloody red.

The trolls screamed in agony as it hit their skin, stomping about blindly to escape their fate. The one closest to Bilbo tripped over its own feet in panic. As Thorin watched its huge body began to fall, the hobbit clear in its path. 

Without thought he was moving, throwing the knife and launching himself at Bilbo, shoving him out of the way. They landed in a heap, Thorin atop Bilbo, hovering protectively over the small form, the troll crashing thunderously to the ground behind them.

And then it was over.

The sunlight retreated behind the grey of the clouds and his company was left with three petrified trolls in their ill-fated camp.

“What in Mahal’s arse crack was that?” came Dwalin’s voice. Just like that the spell was broken. Everyone erupted into noise and complaints, trying to get out of their confines. Thorin looked down, meeting the dazed hazel eyes of the hobbit beneath him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, shuffling to the side and looking his companion over for injuries.

Bilbo let out a long breath. “Yes. Yes I’m alright.” He accepted the hand up Thorin offered, wincing slightly as he gained his feet. “What on earth happened?”

“Ah, you must be Thorin Oakenshield.”

His hands flew to his weapon as a strange figure entered the camp, dressed all in grey and with a tall pointy hat upon his head. 

“Gandalf?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower Meanings:
> 
> The bouquet  
> Bay – Glory  
> Daisy – Innocence, Hope  
> Gladiolus – Strength of character, integrity, passion  
> Daffodil – Regard  
> Nasturtium - victory through battle, conquest  
> Oak - Strength  
> Dill – powerful against evil
> 
> Flower Crown  
> Red Carnations - My Heart Aches, Admiration  
> Edelweiss – Courage, Devotion  
> Gardenia – Secret Love  
> Violet – Loyalty, devotion, faithfulness, modesty


End file.
